


Touch

by AnnE17



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-10
Updated: 2006-12-10
Packaged: 2019-04-29 09:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14470179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnE17/pseuds/AnnE17
Summary: River makes a late night visit to Simon and confronts him.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** PG for suggested incest and mild overt behavior

  
Author's notes: PG for suggested incest and mild overt behavior  


* * *

Touch

## Touch

He had just been drifting off into that warm weighty stupor of sleep when he was roused by the sound of rustling fabric and the light touch of cool fingertips on his bare arm. 

"Simon?" Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. 

"River? What?" His voice was thick in his throat, groggy from half sleep. His mind however, was fully awake, as a thin razor of panic struck at his chest. 

It had not been unusual before, that River would creep into his room late at night, having woken from her nightmares and feverish dreams, looking for the quiet and tangible comfort of her brother's arms. He would sit with her, pull her close, tenderly stroking her hair or gently wiping the tears from her cheeks and whisper reassurances in a soothing, low tone, similar to the one he had often heard Mal use on the infrequent occasions when they were transporting horses or cattle as cargo, in order to lure the animals into the loading bay. 

But now, after Miranda, her nightmares had become sporadic, and far between, for which he was thankful. And as a result, her midnight visits to his bedroom likewise, waned. Her presence tonight then, was unexpected, and thus the reason, unusual and cause for concern. 

"What's wrong? Are you ok?" He tried to keep his voice even to mask the fear he could feel gathering in a lump in the back of his throat. In the darkness he felt the mattress sink near his thigh, and the quick, smooth touch of skin on his leg. She was sitting beside him. 

"I'm fine." Her voice seemed to hover above him though she had not shifted from her place on the bed. 

"Turn on the light," she said, "I want to see you." 

He reached to his left to flick the switch on the nightstand. The room appeared in a half light that enveloped the bed and cast a dim glow on the girl sitting before him. Her legs were folded neatly beneath her and her eyes were hidden by the strands of brown hair that dangled in front of her face. 

"What are you doing? Did you have a nightmare?" Simon shifted to sit up so that he was level with her body. 

"No. I want to talk with you." She had not moved from her position on the bed, not even to brush the hair out of her eyes. It made her expression impossible to read and that made him uneasy. 

"River, it's late." He tried to exaggerate the tiredness of his voice, hoping to prompt her return to her own bed. 

"Can't this wait until morning?" 

"No, now." Her voice was soft but the tone was firm. He would not dismiss her. 

"Alright," he said, bringing his hand to scratch the back of his neck. 

He supposed the frank manner of her statement should not have surprised him; she had always been direct, even during her less lucid periods, though he might not have always been able to comprehend her meaning. 

"You don't touch me anymore." There was something in the way she said the words, sharp, almost accusatorial. He gave a sudden snort, as if choking and hurriedly cleared his throat. 

"What?" He was so convincing with his incredulous tone that he almost believed himself to be surprised. 

"River, what are you talking about?" 

"Don't feign ignorance, Simon. It doesn't suit you." She sat on the bed, still as a statue, seemingly waiting for his next response. It was clear it would be best if he just went along. 

"What? River, of course I touch you," he hoped she could not hear the hollowness of his voice, though it would not matter, she would know its falsity, regardless. 

"No, Simon. You don't. Not like you used to. You know it." At this she gathered the wayward strands of hair covering her face and tucked them behind her ears. He could see her eyes clearly now and they blazed with such intensity in the dim light that he felt as if she might burn a hole straight through to the back of his skull. 

Her next movement was so swift and cat-like he barely had time to react. She moved, though he would more aptly describe it as sprung, from her place on the bed to a crouching position at its head, with her slender lithe legs straddling his lap and her face only inches from his own. She caught him so off guard he did not have time to shift or distance himself. She stared at him, her eyes unblinking and her small pink lips parted slightly. He could feel the warm beats of her breath flutter in rhythm against his chin and a familiar sensation blooming at the base of his stomach, which terrified him. If he craned his neck a mere two inches he could touch her with his lips. 

He could not deny the truth of her words. In the first few months of their reunion, the physicality of caring for her had come so easy. Even on her best days, she was like a small child, needing care and attention, a soothing loving touch of his hand on her cheek, a brief kiss on the crown of her head while he held her close, singing almost forgotten lullabies of their youth into her ear while she drifted to sleep. He was her protector, more than her brother, almost a parent in the way he cared for her. Her condition had required it and he gladly gave. 

But now, after her relief from the secrets of Miranda, he was unable to express his love and concern for her in the same way. A quiet shifting had occurred between them. For, she was no longer that girl-child who needed his constant care and attention. She was stronger now; coherent and capable, despite that she remained quiet and withdrawn. She was much less talkative than he remembered her being, before he had become a doctor and she was held captive by the Alliance. Her words were clear, but few now. She had stopped speaking to herself and others in garbled metaphors and frightened whispers, which only she had understood, but she spoke less often. There were days that if she were not directly spoken to, she would not speak at all. He tried to convince himself this was just a newfound solemnity after all she had been through. 

There were other subtle yet definite changes in her behavior; in the poised and graceful way she held her shoulders, the slow purposeful sway of her hips as she floated along the ship's walkways. He was aware of her sudden shift in her perception of herself, manifested in these changes. Despite the lost years at the Academy, and the nearly 11 months she had spent on Serenity, locked within her own mind, her body had continued to keep in step with time and she now embodied all the allure and promise of a young woman. It seemed inappropriate, almost indecent, for him to coddle her as he had done before. There was no reason, no excuse he could use now to allow for such intimate touches and gestures. And for his own secret, shameful reasons he was almost grateful for it. But River, it seemed, would not let him keep his skeletons buried. 

"You're afraid now," she said with fierce matter-of-factness. Simon squirmed under her weight and tried to lift his arm to gently push River off and away from him, but she was too quick for him and pinned his arms to the mattress. She did not shift from her crouched position and firmly kept his body trapped under the weight of hers. "You're afraid," she repeated again in a hushed whisper. "Because you remember...because I remember." 

Simon squeezed his eyes tight, wishing he could block out her words, wishing he could block out the images in his mind, ones which had stayed so fresh over the past few years, no matter how hard he had tried to black them out. 

"Look at me," she said it softly, entreatingly. When he didn't respond, she continued. "It was the day before I left for the Academy and we were hiding in the poppy fields..." her voice trailed off into the still air. He opened his eyes. She lifted a single finger and traced the edges of his trembling lips. She smiled at him knowingly and he felt as if she was branding him with the scorching heat of her fingertips. 

"We were lying in the grass and you turned to me..." she stopped at the sharp intake of his breath beneath her fingers and the threatening glassiness of his eyes. "How awful it must have been for you," she whispered, "having to wait for me through all of this. Waiting for me to remember." 

"River, I..." He whispered against her skin. 

"Shhh, I know Simon." She spoke to him softly, in an almost obliging tone, one, which he had so often used with her. It occurred to him that their roles had become reversed; she was the soother, and he the one seeking comfort. But beneath this, he could feel that secret persistent longing, which he had tried so hard to quell since the years she had first left him, since that afternoon in the poppy fields. When she had been returned to him, broken in pieces, with the mind and demeanor of a child, he thought that at last he could separate from his shame. Her need was far greater than his. She was so unlike the girl he remembered; she was so fragile and seemingly helpless he found his desire to shelter her, to fix her, eclipsed any other urges in his heart. He could finally become that which he was supposed to be to her, her protector, her brother. And as the months went on he had almost forgot that he had ever been anything else. He did not even worry, after a while, what the outcome would be, what sort of River waited for him, should he succeed in fixing her. 

Now he knew, and had know ever since Miranda. He had a growing notion of it prior to this evening, a realization which had prompted him to cease calling her by anything other than her name (no longer was she his mei-mei) and to avoid any unnecessary contact with her skin. 

"There is no shame, _pin_ ," she whispered. "I remember Simon. And I need you to act like you do too." She shifted then, finally, moving her hips to grind her body into his lap. He gasped behind her fingertips and she could feel his body respond. 

"Will you?" She spoke with a voice tinged with seduction and a hint of desperation. The light in her eyes and the movements of her body were enough and he felt as if his brain was melting, and with it all logical, rational thought. 

"Yes," he whispered haltingly just before he parted his lips to brush his tongue against the tips of her fingers. 

Note: pin means lover, or so the online Chinese dictionary I referenced, states. If not, I apologize, but just go with it

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Touch**   
Author:   **petitoiseau11**   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **PG**  |  **gen**  |  **9k**  |  **12/10/06**   
Characters:  Simon, River   
Pairings:  S/R   
Summary:  River makes a late night visit to Simon and confronts him.   
Notes:  PG for suggested incest and mild overt behavior   
  



End file.
